Reparation Day
by The Devil Wears Westwood
Summary: SEQUEL TO JUDGMENT DAY! "You are going to pick that file up and look at it Sherlock. You missed something and cocaine isn't going to help you find it." Holmes/OC
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **And here we have the beginning to the third story in my trilogy. :)

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Chapter 1:

The curtains were pulled leaving the study in blessed darkness. It hid Holmes away from the world, a world without his love. He picked up a syringe that he had laid out earlier. He'd been waiting for the emptiness to come. It always did and the thing that could fill rested in his hand. He tied off his arm and found a vein. Driving it home he depressed the plunger and allowed forgiveness to enter his body. He relaxed back into his chair allowing bliss to take his mind far from this world. But bliss would not have him for at that moment Watson burst upon his state. He looked from Holmes to the cocaine that lay in plain sight for all to see. Anger took him as he snatched away the harmful drug. He looked into Holmes eyes and saw that he was miles away.

He started to pace, the anger like a lion caged, wanting out. "All you have done for three weeks is try to kill yourself with this." He flashed the vial as he turned on his heel. "You keep telling me that you have to stop Moriarty, but all you do is retreat into your dark hole and shoot drugs through your system. You are not helping anyone! Have you even read the papers? Crime is still out there Holmes! How can you turn your back on people who need you?"

Sherlock stared vacantly up at his long-time friend and partner. "What does it matter? What does any of it matter when I failed the one person who mattered? What does solving any other crime matter?" He slid down further into his chair, wishing that his stubborn friend would just leave the room. Leave him to his pain. Leave him to the memories that haunted his mind. Shaking his head, Watson knew that this was not going to be an easy conversation, but that it was one that had to take place.

The ex military doctor sighed inwardly as he looked Holmes straight in the eye; he knew Holmes was in pain, after all he was still in pain over his lost love. "What does it matter? The man responsible is still out there and you're trying to tell me you honestly don't think that matters enough to stop him?"

Irritated the detective sat up, still clearly under the influence of Cocaine, "It won't change a damned thing. It won't bring her back, it won't solve _anything_." Holmes argued, wanting to be done with the pointless conversation. He was not going to take any more cases. There was no way to stop a man who had gotten away. Probably far away from London at this point. Especially when there was no longer a motive to do so.

"It will." Watson protested, not liking his friend giving up so easily. Holmes glared more at his friend's protest. Why couldn't he just accept things the way they were, rather then the way he wanted them to be? Holmes sat up more in his chair, his arms folding over his chest, eyebrow lowering.

"You just don't understand, do you Watson? It won't solve anything in slightest because there is nothing to solve. It's simple. Moriarty is responsible for R… for her death," a lump in his throat formed at the attempt to say her name, a lump he hoped had not been caught by Watson. Rubbing his temples he turned away and debated whether to let the rush of the cocaine or keep fighting it in order to continue this pointless conversation.

"And you think trying to numb your pain with drugs is going to help ease anything?" Watson responded, glaring at his friend. "You've let him win, Holmes! It may not bring her back, but sitting her trying to kill yourself is doing her no justice."

Holmes glared back up at his friend, fighting the urge of the cocaine for a little while longer, and just as he opened his mouth to retort the door flew open. Throwing a file down on the desk before Holmes, covering the used syringe, Mycroft Holmes stood tall, proud and seemingly unbothered by the current state of his brother. "Sherlock you cannot sit there injecting to get rid of the pain. It's pathetic to think otherwise," Mycroft began, a deadpan tone ringing through the dark room.

He took his own seat across from his brother, who simply glared at him. "And what has brought you here?" Sherlock all but demanded. His brother never came around unless there was a case for him, which he didn't want to take.

"Come now, Sherlock. You know why I'm here. You can answer your question for yourself, and mine without having me say it," Mycroft responded. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother, which did not go unnoticed by either of the other two men in the room. He didn't want to start going through a conversation wtih his brother that would only end with him being more irritated.

"And you know my answer. So, why are you here?" Sherlock snapped back, not wanting to have the same conversation he had just had with Watson repeated. Especially not with his older brother. He knew Mycroft would not leave, but that did not stop his efforts. Mycroft continued to stare at his brother, as if he was trying to pass off a message that the detective just wouldn't catch onto. There was a silence that ran freely between the two siblings.

Watson remained silent, not sure how to respond to the conversation before him, although he had no idea as to what was taking place. "Sherlock I go back to what I said before, you cannot stay here like this."

Mycroft momentarily shot his gaze from his brother to the doctor. "He already knows that, no point telling him what he knows, only gives him more reason to ignore what is spoken. Open the file Sherlock."

Sherlock just glared at the file, knocking it onto the floor. "I'm not interested in taking any case for you, Mycroft." he stated, bluntly.

"Not even if it meant you could get Renee back?" He retoreted.

Sherlock's face turned stone cold, "What game are you playing now? I'm through with you and your games" He felt the wounds become restored to where they had been originally. His face remained cold as stone, not wanting to hear the rest of what Mycroft was going to say. He didn't want to be reminded that she was gone, without any way to get her back.

Mycroft fought the urge to roll his eyes; his brother frustrated him so at times like this. "Like I've already said, open the file." Watson watched the exchange but even he wasn't sure of what Mycroft was referring to. She was dead, they knew that much.

Sherlock still wasn't interested and glared at his brother. "My fiancée is gone. I saw it for myself. Therefore take your file and get out."

"And just how much did you see brother? How far did you look before grief consumed you?" Mycroft question, giving a look that told his brother he wasn't leaving until he had opened the case. "You are going to pick that file up and look at it Sherlock. You missed something and cocaine isn't going to help you find it."

Sherlock glanced at the spread file on the floor and then to his brother before looking back at the file. "Get out Mycroft and take the damn file with you." He was tired of playing these games.

His brother merely got up, scooping up the file and walked to the door. "Don't be ridiculous brother; as much as I hate to say it, it pains me the depths to which you have fallen.

Holmes picked up a pen and lobbed it at the door, "GET OUT, YOU TOO WATSON." Both men quickly walked out, leaving Holmes to his thoughts and a final decision.

Rubbing his temples, Holmes downed a glass of water his eyes seemingly searching the room, but not sure of what they were looking for. That was until he glanced a piece of paper lying on the floor, not far from where he flung the file. Picking it up, he scanned the words, not really reading, but the long unused clog that was his mind began processing the information presented before him. At reading one section his whole body position changed, his interest captivated as he read onwards. There was hope once more. Maybe he hadn't completely failed yet.

Mycroft stood by the door with Watson. "He won't carry on like this." Watson couldn't help but to shake his head in disbelief. While he knew Mycroft had an intelligence level much higher than his brother's, he found it hard to believe that the older Holmes could be so sure of that fact. Sherlock had been showing no signs of coping with the grief and acted as if he would never even try.

"You sound sure of yourself," Watson shot back. "We both know once he decides something, he doesn't change his mind."

To the younger man's surprise, Mycroft almost smiled. "Oh I am well aware of this fact." In answer to Watson's now bewildered look, Mycroft elaborated. "I've known that man his entire life, I found ways to get around his tendencies, you'll understand in the near future. Anyhow, I must get off; I have other business to attend to. My world does not start and finish with my brother."

Watson wasn't ready to let him leave just let. "Wait. You never answered my question. What makes you so sure?" Mycroft turned around, a smile on his face at Watson's determination. The doctor waited to hear what had the older Holmes brother smiling.

"Just make him take the case, there was a reason for everything I said in there, and yes that did include Renee," he added answering both Watson's spoken and unspoken questions. Watson began to look at Mycroft as if he were simply trying to feed his brother false hopes. It couldn't be possible. What hope could there be to Renee?

"Oh?" was all John Watson could reply. Mycroft could easily see that the doctor did not believe him, but he had also expected this from him. He would soon, as well as Holmes, be able to understand why he had come all this way from his office.

Mycroft let another half smile slip, grim as it was. "Let's just say there is strong evidence to the contrary concerning Renee's death." He turned around once again to leave when the doctor once again spoke up, asking yet another question.

"Why not just tell him what you know?" Watson asked. "Why make him figure it out on his own?" Mycroft turned around and smiled once more, shaking his head at the doctor. Watson waited for an answer to his question, trying to understand Mycroft's motive.

"Because that would remove any motivation for Sherlock to leave his current state, and here I was thinking that was what you wanted." Mycroft replied. Watson stood quiet for a moment, not sure on how he should respond.

"It is," Watson began, "but I still think you're going the wrong way about it. Tell him straight and he'll go after her." For once in their conversation, Watson let the idea that Renee being alive was a possibility come out of his mouth.

Handing Watson the file, Mycroft stepped out of the house, "I think not, rather more enjoyable this way, and I've already stated my other reasons, now I must get back to my own business. Good Day Mr. Watson." And without another word, the door shut, and Mycroft was on his way out. John headed back up the stairs, to find Holmes standing in his study, clutching the one photograph of his beloved he had in his possession. But these were not tears of sadness. These were tears of something entirely different.

* * *

The rain drizzled, hitting the worn out building that now served as home to James Moriarty, Jack the Ripper, and Renee Duncan. The Ripper was out on his first killing spree since setting the stage for Renee's disappearance. This left the professor at a bare desk, reading, while Renee was locked up in a room down the hall, probably still lying on her bed wishing that the detective would figure out what had really happened and come swooping in. He laughed at the thought, knowing that, because it had been over three weeks, this hope would not become a reality. He turned his attentions back to his paper.

Moriarty smirked as he read the papers: crime rate was once again on the rise, which could only mean that his plan was working – Holmes was on self-destruct, he was broken and lost without his little bird. Deciding it was time he paid his reward a visit, he headed towards the room where he held her.

Renee was exhausted, her restraints and conscience meant that she had not had any significant rest since he had abducted her. She was sore all over and terrified of what the future held in store for her.

There would be no reprieve for her now that her beloved thought she had died, there was nobody coming to save her. However before she could fall into her routine of self-pity, she heard footsteps and knew he was coming. Her heart beat increased, her adrenaline pumped and it was all she could do to stop herself from breaking entirely.

As the footsteps came closer, she fell silent and by the time the lock clicked and the door creaked open, a pin could have fallen and it would have seemed as loud as a cannon. Moriarty walked in and it was as though a vacuum had entered with him, sucking any hope that may have been around in the room, his presence still as terrifying to her as it had been the first time they had met.

He kept his distance from the raven woman, freely smirking as he enjoyed every bead of fear that lingered in the air. His eyes ran over her restrained form. She had been dropping weight. This of course, was her own fault for deciding upon a stupid hunger strike in the vain hope that Detective Holmes would find her.

"If only your precious Holmes could see you now," he couldn't keep the amusement from his tone. Renee glared at him in response, knowing he was building up to one of his now regular barrages of abuse. And once again, she was powerless to preventing it.

"Skinny, a bag of bones, blemished, bruised," Moriarty trailed off for the moment laughing as her face contorted into one of pain at the mention of her beloved. "Accept it Renee; he's not coming for you. You're dead, remember?"

Renee turned her tear stained face from him, she didn't have a lot of movement available to her with the tight rope restraints ailing her every attempt, but she could do that much. His voice droned on as she attempted to drown him out, trying not to think of him. "Of course if he was any good, he wouldn't have let anything happen to you in the first place. You'd be safe. If he loved you-"

"Oh shut up," Renee's sudden outburst was a new turnaround for the books; she hadn't been this vocal in a while. "The amount you go on about him, anyone would think you have jealousy issues," She stopped, taking a deep breath as she summoned her strength for her words which would most likely result in a bad punishment later. "He's stronger than you, smarter than you and I'll be damned if he doesn't work out what you've done!" Renee was almost screaming now at her captor, her voice gaining momentum and volume like there was no tomorrow.

_SMACK_.

James Moriarty's right hand connected with the side of her face as her neck cracked from the sheer force, yet through the pain she just laughed. This only infuriated him more. Slamming her down, he further restrained her using his own strength as he reached inside his pocket and withdrew a small vial.

It was over before she realized what had happened and the professor stood back smirking at the silence which had fallen. On the bed lay a woman no longer aware of her surroundings. No longer able to use her voice to be heard, and yet the drug had not taken effect. The mere fear of him had frozen her, and the drug would keep her subdued for a while after that.

"You cannot win little Renee, you are lost to him as he will soon be lost to me. A sweet chain of reaction don't you think?" He smirked as she shrank back into the small cot that passed as a bed in the cage, still unaware of what he had done to her.

The door to the cage swung open, breaking the professor's mood as he scowled as Jack closed the door to the cage, ignoring the professor. Clearly on an adrenaline rush, this meant that he had been successful, which meant that he would want to roam over the bird. Moriarty watched as the Ripper walked over to where the now drained mess that was formerly Renee, sat shrunk into the furthest corner of her cot, blank eyed, staring at him.

His arm shot out, lifting her up as he sat down on her bed, laying her body across his own. Not caring for the discomfort she was feeling from the force from the ropes, he began entertaining himself with her. He pet her hair, running his hands through each wavy lock, ignoring the whimper that escaped her lips as she eyes closed in protest.

He continued his ministrations, tormenting her as one hand left her hair to stroke her body through her clothing, while the other continued to weave its way through her hair. His legs locked around hers as he continued, his grip never slacking on the raven haired beauty, who was struggling to keep back tears.

"Enough," Moriarty spoke up as he walked towards the pair. He knew the drug would kick in soon, and he wanted to hold her while the drug over took her. "Get out; I want to be alone with the bird." Jack kissed her lips passionately, before he growled, got up, and left the room.

Letting out a short lived sigh of relief, Renee felt her body once again be lifted up, this time by the professor. He held her, restraining her from moving her ear from next to his cold lips. "Shush now, little Renee," he cooed, raising more fear inside of her. He removed one arm for a moment, just long enough to press down the hairs that had been raised up by the Ripper. He felt her shudder against his touch, which caused him to let out a mocking laugh. His arm relocked around her, his eyes waiting to see the drug over take her.

Renee lay frozen in his arms, hoping that the hell would be over soon and she would be alone to brood, to wish, to think, to rest. However, this was not to be the case. A tingling feeling started in her calves, which soon turned into a sharp pain that worked its way up her body. Her body began its decent into pins and needles, numbing her as she began to feel helpless. Panicking at the sensations overriding her body, she struggled, trying to kick out any opportunity as she wriggled and moved as quickly as possible, hoping for some kind of relief.

Moving his lips so that they wouldn't let a single sound out into the room and only her ear, he whispered quietly. "It's a nice sensation, once you get used to taking it. Or so I've been told," he whispered, continuing. "Sherlock told me that." He laughed as her body froze, the words she hadn't known hitting her mind. "Yes, you're beloved told me of his uses."

He felt her go limp in his arms as the sensations took over her body, incapacitating her. Smirking at his choice of words, Professor James Moriarty pushed her off of him, got up, and walked out, leaving the drugged captive unconscious. He laughed as he shut the door, knowing that when she did wake up, her first thoughts would be of what she had just learned about Sherlock Holmes.

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Review? :)


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Lookie here, I remembered how to Update. :) Sorry about the long wait, everyone. But I hope you enjoy chapter 2.

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Chapter 2:

Her head was pounding as her eyelids slowly allowed themselves to open. She tried to sit up in the bed, but felt nothing but a head rush. Renee's hands found her head, holding it to try and make the spinning of the room go away. As soon as her surroundings came into view, crystal tears swelled up in her eyes, threatening to fall out. Her memory was flooded with what had gone on the night previous. But she couldn't decide what was hurting her worse; the fact that she had been drugged or the fact that her Sherlock was an active drug user. Part of her cursed itself for not seeing that in the first place. The other part of her cursed him. Why hadn't he flat out told her? She told him enough, or at least she thought she did. She let a few more tears slip out of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. But before they could all find their way out, the door creaked open.

Moriarty's darkness quickly darkened the sun lighted room. He swept his way into the room, shutting the door with ease. Renee would not look at him. She did not wish to look at him. She did not want to suffer through any more taunts, any more pain. Hadn't she suffered through enough in the last night, let alone the last couple of weeks? Suddenly her nose was filled with a strong scent. Food. He was going to try and get her to eat once more. Before she opened her mouth to speak, his lips tugged up into a smirk, walking over to. "Oh little bird. I'm glad to see that the effect of the drug has begun to rub off," he smiled, stepping closer to the bed. With each step, the scent of the food became stronger and stronger. Her stomach grumbled in hunger. "Oh Renee, surrender your hunger strike. Surely, you must not feel so devoted to him now? Especially not with his little secret out in the open."

Renee's arms instinctively reached to pull her knees to her chest, but the ropes pulled her arms back above her head. She shook her head, still looking down. Moriarty laughed, setting the plate of food down next to her on the bed. "Stop being foolish, birdie. If you surrendered these feelings of loyalty to a man who clearly does not love you, for if he loved you, he wouldn't have hid his secret syringe from you," He laughed, smiling harshly as he watched her continue to shake her head. He grabbed his knife out of his pocket, cutting the ropes off of her hands. "Eat." He nearly commanded. All the while the dark professor was thinking to himself, if she was to eat, then he would know she had given up on her beloved detective. If she ate, he would know that she felt betrayed, unwanted, unloved by Sherlock Holmes. And that was a pleasure he longed to be able to taste.

At the feeling of her arms no longer being restricted by the tight ropes, Renee wanted to do nothing but try to escape. But she knew she had no chance, especially with no energy. Her eyes hit the meat and bread. It was starting to become close to impossible to ignore the temptation. Her eyes closed, as her hand reached out. If she wanted to try to save herself from Moriarty, she was going to need her strength. She knew now that her only hope out of Moriarty's prison was her own wit. And she wanted out, no matter how betrayed she felt by Sherlock. She knew that she wasn't going to be able to live like this for much longer. Jack scared her. Moriarty petrified her. Every day she was there, no matter how small and bruised she was, Jack became more lustful for her. Soon, she knew, this craving would overpower Moriarty's order to keep from her.

Moriarty let out a low laugh at the sight of her, picking up the bread and beginning to nibble on it. He had won. He knew he was always capable of being able to win. Without another word to or from Renee, he turned around on his heel, walking promptly out of the room. Renee watched him leave, gratefully, but surprised. Did he truly believe there was some sort of success by her breaking of her hunger strike? Surely, she thought to herself, he could not. She knew his wit was on the same level of Sherlock's, if not higher in some ways. So how was it that he seemed so easily fooled?

Once she finished the small he had presented for her, Renee laid down on the bed, her arms locking around her body in a tight, self hug. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, she could feel the strong, rough, loving arms of Detective Sherlock Holmes around her, stroking the skin on her own arms. No matter how betrayed she was feeling by him, she could not deny to herself that she was missing him. She still loved him; she knew that for a fact. She would have a hard time forgiving him, which was also a fact. But she would forgive him in an instant if it meant being able to be wrapped in his loving care once more.

She turned on her side, wishing that the feeling would never fade. But she knew it would. Her back faced the door, knowing that trying to escape right that second would be stupid and ill planned. She wanted to enjoy the freedom the lack of restraint brought her, for the time being, and she knew that if she tried to run, without planning, that Moriarty would catch her and chain her up, even worse than he had in the first place. She shuddered all thought out of her mind, stroking her own arms as if the feeling of Sherlock's fingers on her skin would arise if she did it long enough. But it did not.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was up before the majority of London. He had quickly washed up; rushing out onto the streets before the sun had even fully arose. He didn't care much for his appearance, he never had. But this particular moment, his only thought was of what he had read on Mycroft's case file.

_Normally, he would have ignored the paper, he rationalized. But the boldly written name of Renee Duncan had captivated his eye. How nice it looked it writing. How nice it would be to be able to say her name once more. His eyes filled with threatening tears, but he would not let them fall. There was no place for tears anymore. They did not fix anything. No emotion, no weakness, no strength, would change anything. Or so he had thought until his eyes began to process the words on the page. _

_On the piece of paper was the body identified as Renee Anne Duncan. Under it was simple writings, findings and observations of the body and its injuries. But nothing caught Holmes' eyes completely. That was until he started to truly process the words in his mind. One of the sentences read, _"Prior body inflictions, missing." _Upon reading this, Holmes sat upright in his chair. How could that be? He knew the branding mark that Weese had left on his beloved hadn't completely healed. And in the state of healing that it was in, it would have been visible under inspection. Perhaps Mycroft had been right. Perhaps he hadn't searched hard enough, long enough before he gave into grief and accepted that Moriarty had won. Maybe had never be something that Sherlock Holmes had been keen on. But this time, perhaps a maybe was all he needed. The chance that Mycroft was right. The chance that he had given up without a fight. _

Out and about in the streets of London, Holmes wasn't sure of what he was looking for. A sign, a clue, anything that might lead to more proof that Mycroft was right. He couldn't help but to give a grimaced grin at the thought. He continued to walk, continued to search. He was beginning to feel as if his mission was in vain when he stumbled into a police investigation. In front of him, both Inspector Lestrade and Inspector Gregson stood, arguing over what had occurred. At their feet was a body, covered by a white sheet. From the way that the sheet fell against the body, Holmes could tell that it was a body of a woman. From the way Lestrade and Gregson argued, he deduced that Jack the Ripper had resurfaced. Holmes had had his suspicions before. Suspicions that the Ripper was in leagues with Moriarty. But now, the scene before him sent signals flying from every corner at him. The main giveaway was that, out of all houses to stage a murder, this one was closest to where Holmes had had many encounters with James Moran. A second, Moriarty was known in the area well for his reputation, and it always seemed that when the professor had pitched, the whispers about his actions sprung out of this area of London.

"Mr. Holmes!" Clarke exclaimed, upon seeing Sherlock standing across the way. He was surprised to see the detective out and walking, as he had not been seen by Scotland Yard for a good span of time. Holmes made his way over to the policeman, knowing that he would need the information that the Yard was starting to pull together if he was going to try and make any conclusions about a partnership between Moriarty and the Ripper.

"Clarke," Holmes responded, his eyes continuing to rush around the location. His mind was pounding with excitement. It had been far too long since he had used his power of deductions, and his mind was active and ready to work. His mind took note of the fact that nothing but the area of ground that the victim laid upon seemed untouched by the villain. "The Ripper?" He asked, to which he received a nod.

At this point, Lestrade found his way over to where Holmes now stood. "See you've decided to show yourself, Holmes," he said, bitterly. Sherlock brushed off the comment. "Yes, Holmes, this has been proven to be the work of the Ripper. The victim was a woman of her late twenties, throat cut, without a single jagged mark, stomach cut open with at least one, if not more, bodily organ missing," the Inspector stated, a tint of horror in his words. "The Ripper's first murder in almost a month, if I remember quickly. The Duncan girl being his last victim?" Holmes nodded, trying to keep from the subject from turning onto Renee. He wanted to believe that she was alive. And he was going to, no matter how false and misleading hope may be.

"There is nothing to be found, Mr. Holmes," Gregson stated. "There were no witnesses, even though this murder took place in front of the house instead of in the back, like most of his. That is the only difference between both matters," he stated, his eyes narrowed as they shot a glance at Lestrade, as if waiting for his conclusions to be questions. To his clear surprise, however, Lestrade kept his silence, his eyes fixed on Holmes rather than Gregson. "Wrap it up here, gents!" Gregson yelled to the Yarders.

Holmes remained silent as he watched the body be removed from the scene. The two police Inspectors, for once, seemed to forget that he was standing in their mists. They left, both in separate carts, but in the same direction. The field was clear of all Yarders, leaving Holmes alone in the middle of a crime scene. Ignoring the fact that every personage, including himself, was acting out of character for their usual manner, Holmes quickly busied himself, looking for clues. He looked, looking for anything, anything at all, that might pair the Ripper and Moriarty as a team. If he could reach this conclusion, he would be able to deduce that the Professor had not left London, after all.


	3. Author's Question

Out of curiosity, how many of you would like me to finish this story? I have been reviewing the stories that I could possibly finish, and this was always in my intentions to finish my Sherlock/Renee trilogy.

Please PM me if you are interested in me finishing this series.


	4. Chapter 3

Here is the update that so many of you wanted. I hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 3:

Sherlock Holmes had not realized how long he had been searching the area. Nothing was coming out of the search he kept conducting and restarting. The only things he could find were pieces of torn clothing fabric, splashes of blood, and other random moved objects that would have come from the Ripper's attack. He sat down on the sidewalk, watching as the sun began to go down. He had not conducted many searches in the dark, but this one he knew it was worth trying for. Perhaps, if he could get a look into the complete mind frame of the Ripper, he would be able to find something. He was not willing to give up. Not if it meant the difference between knowing the truth about Renee or not.

Just as the sun began to go down, something caught his eye as he had not realized before. On the sidewalk laid a crumble up piece of paper, wet with a little blood. He opened the picture to realize he knew the person in it. This was the photo taken after the case of Christopher Weese. This picture was of his beautiful Renee. He flipped over to the back of the photo, searching for any clues that would lead to the connection he so desperately wanted to exist. It didn't take long for the only thing his eyes could make out from the destroyed ink due to the blood to register. An M. Moriarty's M. They were working together. Which meant Renee was still alive, or had been at least for a few weeks longer than he had originally thought. He chose not think much more on the later.

Sherlock rushed home with the picture in his pocket. There had to be more than that one simple clue from which he would be able to form a clearer position about his case. And finding her was once again the upmost important task that he could ever commit himself to. A small smile at the thought of finding her stroked half way up into position, for the first time since his proposal had been accepted. He would not allow himself to dream, for that would be pointless. He knew he couldn't allow himself to push his hopes higher than to determination. That could only happen if he was able to find another clue from the picture—or at least a starting position. However, his heart raced with pure excitement at the thought of finding her alive.

* * *

Jack walked the hallways of the abandoned flat unit that they had taken up residency. His mind was still fresh from the kill, thumping with the adrenaline of the actions that had gone down over the night. He had celebrated with a lukewarm round of whiskey and beer, before taking up pleasure in a whore. He would have killed again, but the pleasure of warm skin under his had been enough to follow after one killing. Yet it wasn't nearly enough of a reward to satisfy the urges of the pleasures of life. No, his mind was on the raven beauty locked up in the room. It always was. She was the ultimate prize, the ultimate form of woman. From her beauty to her weaknesses as a female, he could think of nothing else but how she could be his. And for once, it was his chance.

Moriarty had just finished his meal, and from what he had heard after reporting his return, the little bird had ended her hunger strike. This meant that there would be some fight for him; just enough to appreciate the attempts she tried to made to stop his own. As for Moriarty, he was busy catering to his bees as he could not work on his schemes anymore until they were moved to France in a matter of weeks.

Jack moved around the halls to Renee's room quietly and swiftly, ensuring that no one would be able to follow him. His blood pounded as he reached the door. How long he had thought of this moment. He would finally have her, and leave a few inflictions on her beautiful body, enough to say that he had been there. Enough to finally mark the best target he had ever had.

Renee lied curled on her bed, after finishing a third round of a full meal that Moriarty had brought her. She could feel the energy returning to her small, broken body. Her muscles already seemed stronger at the simple walking she had been doing around the room. Her body as a whole felt as if it were forming back together at the taste of food and drink. However, her sense of comfort did not last long as she heard the door creak open and shut, the lock on the inside turning for a change. She spun around quickly to see the Ripper, smiling at her.

"Good afternoon, beautiful Renee," Jack stated as he began to walk closer to her. Renee recognized that look from the last nightmare her life had experienced. It was the same look that Christopher Weese had given her the night he had forced her into marriage and consummation. Her heart beat with fear. She would not experience that again.

Renee said nothing, but watched as the man continued to step closer and closer to her. Before she could move off of the bed, the Ripper was already upon her, stroking her hair. "It occurs to me, beautiful, that you never were deflowered by the Detective, so I must take that duty upon myself. You are a beautiful creature; the women I usually perform my talents on are nothing like you. But there is a first for everything," he stated, lowering his lips to kiss her cheek. He moaned at the softness of her bruised and blemished skin. It was still so soft and delicate, and he could feel the heat that had began to return to her body as she had ended her hunger streak.

Renee began to look desperately for the way out of the scene she now found herself in. He was doing nothing yet but kissing her cheeks and her lips, as if he could not decide on where he ought to start. Renee looked down to his pocket and noticed a sharp tip in bottom corner of his pocket. The Ripper's knife. If she could make her way down to it and attack, she could make her run from the place. True, her energy was not up as much as she had hoped, but it was enough to try and make it home to Sherlock.

Jack was surprised as Renee touched his upper leg. It was nicer than the touches that the whores had made on him. So soft and innocent. He began to focus on kissing her chin that he didn't realize much of what she was doing to him. She was everything he had dreamed, and the fact that she was responding was enough for him. It wasn't until he felt the hard tip of something cut up against his abdomen that he realized just what she had done.

As the Ripper began to bleed above her, Renee managed to shove him off of her and onto the floor. Without wasting another minute, she ran for the door, unlocking it, and closed it as quietly as she could. From here, she locked the door from the front and began to look for a way out into the open world. Step one was complete. She was on her way back to Sherlock.

She slipped through the hallways, nearly being caught several times by one of Moriarty's men. Her body began to feel weak and rushed at how quickly she was forcing herself to move, but she managed to find the door. As she stepped outside, she realized that they were simply on the outskirts of London. There were two of three carrier coaches around her, and she managed to make her way over to one. Climbing into the front seat, she whispered with what little energy she had left. "221 B, Baker Street, please." She passed out as the carriage began to move, so desperately wanting to be in the arms of Sherlock Holmes.


	5. Chapter 4

**AN: Here is the update!**

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Chapter 4:

Renee awoke just as the cart came to a stop. She looked around her, her head still pounding and her heart racing. Her eyes traced the black numbers that resided outside of Sherlock's home. 221B. Tears swelled up in her eyes. If she could just summon up the energy to walk to the front door, she would be with her beloved once more. Slowly, she climbed out and walked up the steps. Lightly, her hand grabbed the doorknob. It was unlocked, which didn't surprise her as it was in Sherlock's character to forget to lock the door after returning home for the evening. "Sherlock," her weak voice whispered, her body shaking from the lack of energy that resided inside of her small frame. She needed to lie down, she knew this. But first, she needed to be reunited.

Sherlock Holmes lay on the floor of his study, smoking his pipe and waiting impatiently for the chemicals to finish running their course of the piece of evidence he had found at the crime scene. "Damn these matters of time and patience," he muttered to himself. He held his own photo of Renee in his hands, his eyes roaming from the top to bottom corner. How he missed her. How he was, for the first time in his life, hoping that he had been wrong. Hoping, he thought to himself as he closed his eyes to let memories of her flood into his mind, may not be such an inconceivable thing after all.

Then he heard the door open and shut. He thought nothing of it, figuring it to be Watson returning from a day of work at the hospital. That changed when he heard the voice of an angel whisper his name, just barely loud enough to reach his ears. He sat up instantly. He knew that voice. Renee. Standing up and rushing out of the room, not caring to think for a moment that it could have been his mind playing another cruel trick on him, he went to go and see. He had to go and see. He was too desperate to have her back to care for his normal character or to cool his hopes. Now was not the time for all of that. As he reached the stairs, he heard his name once again, this time weaker—but coming from the same voice.

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Moriarty walked the halls of his residency, carrying the last platter of food for his captured bird for the day. For the most part, he had spent the day wondering what he would do with her once she had gathered all of her strength back. The Ripper had a strong interest and desire for her from the moment he had given the man the assignment, but he was unsure as to whether or not he should give the Ripper the satisfaction of owning and killing off the bird. He didn't want her to be killed, anyway. It would always serve as a reminder of Holmes' stupidity in his state of drunken love to have his beloved locked up in a room, very much alive, and only a small distance between them. As he opened the door to the bird's cage, his facial muscles tightened up as his jaw locked at the scene.

Jack the Ripper lied on the floor, bloody and unconscious, but the point of origin for the blood had been covered. He was clearly just too weak to remove his body from the floor. Next to him was his own knife. And nowhere to be found, was Renee Duncan. Moriarty knew instantly what had happened. The little bird had bested the Ripper when he tried to make advancement on her. His body let out a lowly growl as it shook in anger. "JACK!" He bellowed in anger.

At the sound of his name being shouted, the Ripper was sprung out of his unconscious state and looked over to see the Professor glaring at him. "That little bitch did me in. You should have let her to me a long time ago," Jack said, forcing himself to stand up off of the ground. "It's not like you don't know where she went, if she managed to get very far from her anyway," he spat annoyed. He was tired of being the Professor's lackey.

Moriarty glared at the younger man. "My plans are almost completed; my dear boy," he snarled, "and I did not require Sherlock Holmes to come back into the picture. May I remind you, my dear boy, if and inevitably when, thanks to your mistakes, he returns into the picture of the side of law, he will not only come after me, but your line of work as well," Moriarty finished. "We cannot recapture his bird. No doubt that he will make it impossible to retrieve her again, anyway."

Jack glared. He despised that the Professor still had a thick hold under him to keep him as his associate. But he also knew better than to request leave from the office of James Moriarty. He had seen what had happened to others who had tried to wise off the Professor or leave his employment. He would not leave this world killed by another criminal. If he were to leave this world, it would be after years of much needed continued work in his field. "Perhaps, Moriarty," Jack began to sneer back but quickly changed his mind with one raise of the eyebrow from the older man, "there is another way to ensure that he is indeed distracted by the fear of losing her."

"He will be distracted, Jack. That is a given. As is the fact that he will not decline his hand in an investigation once it presents himself. But, there are and will be many more opportunities to play string master to the bird as well." Moriarty turned on his heel, giving the Ripper one last order while he walked away, "feel free to prowl in your line of work as much as you want these next few days. It will distract Scotland Yard and Sherlock Holmes away from my plans, with enough time for me to set them into motion." Without another word, he walked back to his room to be undisturbed by anyone.

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**Please leave a review :) Chapter 5 will be updated by the middle/end of next week, and I do plan for that to be a lovely chapter of Sherenee, unless I decide to focus my attention on Moriarty and the Ripper for a full chapter. **


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